A short quick scuffle, a bright flash, a loud report, and Robert Vavasour dropped to the ground. With a great oath, the man sprang up, but ere he could stir one step, Mr. Linchmore's hand was upon him. A desperate struggle ensued; but a stronger arm, a more powerful frame, contended with him now, and in a few moments he lay prostrate, but still struggling, on the ground. "Could you be content with nothing less than murder?" asked a voice, sternly. Mr. Linchmore shuddered as he recognised "Goody Grey." "For God's sake, Mrs. Grey, go and seek help for the wounded man yonder." "Why should I?" she exclaimed, fiercely. "I will never stir a finger for you or yours. I have sworn it." "It is your son, your long-lost son! Tabitha bid me tell you so." Goody Grey,--or rather Mrs. Archer's,--whole frame trembled violently; she quivered and shook, and leant heavily on her staff, as though she would have fallen. "Fly!" he continued. "For God's sake, fly! Rouse yourself, Mrs. Archer, and aid your son." "My son!" she repeated, softly and tenderly, but as if doubting his words. Again Mr. Linchmore implored her, again she heard those words "It is your son!" which seemed to burn her brain. But the power of replying, of moving, seemed taken from her. A minute passed, and then the weakness passed away. Her eyes flashed, her face flushed, then blanched again, while with a mighty effort she drew up her tall figure to its utmost height, and proudly, but hurriedly, went over to where Robert lay. She staunched the blood flowing from the wound, and tenderly knelt by his side and lifted his head gently on her bosom. There was a slight break in the branches of the trees overhead, so that what little light there was, streamed through the gap full down on the spot where Mrs. Archer knelt. She raised his coat sleeve, and baring his arm, bent down her head over it. A moment after a wild cry rent the air, and rang through the wood. "Oh! help! help!" she cried; "Oh! my son! my son!" There was no need to cry for help; the sound of the gun had been heard, and the keepers came crowding to the spot, and with them, Marks. A litter was soon constructed for the wounded man, and once more he was mournfully and sorrowfully borne away towards the Hall. Marks drew near the captured poacher, now standing sullenly and silently near. "Ah!" said Marks, as he was being led away, "I thought no good had brought farmer Hodge down here, four years ago. You'll may be swing for this, my lad; and break your father's heart, as you did your mother's, not so long ago." With which consolatory remark, Marks went back to his cottage. CHAPTER XIV. DESPAIR! "Ah! what have eyes to do with sleep, That seek, and vainly seek to weep? No dew on the dark lash appears,-- The heart is all too full for tears." L. E. L.